


Picture Perfect Blue

by CheekyDoodles



Series: The DUNGEON [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Attraction, Birthday, Cute, M/M, Promiscuity, Shorts (Clothing), Strippers & Strip Clubs, awkward arthur, lots of body glitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3304046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheekyDoodles/pseuds/CheekyDoodles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Arthur's 22nd birthday, so as good mates do, they take him to a strip club where he meets a mysterious dancer he'll have a hard time forgetting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture Perfect Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Yooo I just had a need that needed filling and that need was stripper!Merlin au.  
> [Here's](https://soundcloud.com/charlixcx/boom-clap-astr-remix) the song that I pictured as Merlin's music. I recommend it. Ignore the fact that I have no idea how to write these sorts of things, as well.

It's Friday night and the city thrives like a living thing around Arthur and his group of friends. The peachy edge of the glowing cityscape is slowly getting eaten up by a wave of indigo, no stars to be seen. There are people everywhere, prowling in the busy streets and choking the dirty wet pavement. They all look dressed for a night of fun in tight clothes, shiny shoes and too much cologne. Arthur wonders where all these people come from and what rocks they crawl under during the week.

He fiddles with the gaudy velvet rope that bisects their part of the pavement into a line and sighs, heavy with dread. It does nothing to settle his stomach. "Alright this has been loads of fun. Can we go now?"

His friend Elyan, who's closest to him in line, laughs. His dark almond eyes actually twinkle with the (also) gaudy rainbow lights overhead. "Oh come off it, Arthur. You'll have fun."

"That's right," Gwaine supplies, poking his messy chocolate head over Elyan's shoulder. "We'd never disappoint you, especially not on the day of your _birth_. Right, gentlemen?"

Leon and Percy, from their positions at the front of their little formation, offer a "never!" in agreement.

Arthur just shrugs Elyan off, throwing his friends an all encompassing sour look.

Today is in fact, Arthur's twenty-second birthday. And as friends do, they paraded unannounced into his flat and pledged to take him out for "a night of the utmost fun". He went along good-naturedly, with minimal swearing and kicking. He was very near excited, even when they'd crammed themselves into Percy's beat up mustang that always smells suspiciously of salt and vinegar crisps. Plus he had to sit half on Leon’s lap. He demanded to know where they might be going several times, but everyone kept their lips shut tight, even Gwaine (which was shocking).

They parked on the third floor of a garage and made out into the city on foot. Arthur was about to blow his top from the curiosity when they finally rounded the last unfamiliar corner on their journey. His friends swept their arms out to present the surprise destination.

" _Tah dah_!"

On the corner across the street stood what might be an average brick building, if not made burlesque by an armor of ostentatious lights. He could feel the bouncing music bleeding out of the building. A vertical sign over the entrance read “The DUNGEON” in purple neons.

A strip club. And not only that-- a _male_ strip club. As in, a _gay_ strip club. If he could judge by the gaggle of drag queens waiting in the growing line.

Arthur had drank the sight in, his pent up aggravation fizzling out like a freshly shaped sword dunked in water.

"You can't be serious," he practically choked.

"Of course we're serious, your royal Prudishness," Gwaine had grinned. He began to tug him across the street when the crosswalk opened.

“How on _earth_ did you even find this place?” Arthur asked. None of his friends were gay, with the exception of Gwaine: the infamous bisexual.

“Google was very helpful,” Elyan said. “All the reviews for this place were four stars or above. Come on mate, we wouldn't take you to bad strip club.”

Arthur rolls his eyes.

"We just think you need to have a little fun," Percy supplemented with an innocent shrug. "You haven't gotten out much, since y'know, _Mordred_ and all that," he says, frowning around the name like it tasted bad on his tongue.

The other three acquiesced, reminding Arthur why these idiots were his best friends. So he swallowed his pride like a multivitamin and followed them behind the satin ribbon.

Now he's regretting being so soft. "Well, this line is way too long anyway. We probably won't get in for an hour or more!"

That's when an unfamiliar voice ahead of them calls out, "Next!"

"Well would you look at that?" Gwaine says, voice syrupy with mock astonishment. "We're next."

Arthur grimaces. "Great."

The bouncer, a man dressed as a knight with a fake sword, helmet and all, waves them forward. The chainmail over his arms removed to reveal biceps almost as thick as Percy's, glowing with body glitter. Not so practical, Arthur thinks.

“How many?” Sir Glitter asks, and Arthur doesn’t miss the way his eyes quickly lick Percy up and down through the visor of his helmet.

Leon says, “Three, with--” he pauses to pull Arthur to the front, “one special birthday boy.”

“Ooh a birthday boy, huh?” Sir Glitter lifts his visor and there’s a smirk in his eyes. “How about having the best seat in the house? _On_ the house.”

God dammit all. “No no,” Arthur awkwardly coughs. “That’s-- I’m fine. No special treatment needed here, I’ll take a seat in the back, please.” Please.

This sure is the best seat they have, Arthur thinks as he soon sulks in it against his will. God dammit all, again.

Inside, the club is full of people and the music is heavy on his ears, vibrations of some trashy house song getting trapped in his ribs. A cocktail of lights swirl around the dark club, dousing the little tables and side stages. The main stage is a sort of T shape, its glossy path cutting through the center of the room, with silver poles running it through at even intervals. Arthur sits right before the tail end of the T, a foreboding strip pole not more than a meter from him.

Some strange man in a cheesily sexy attempt at a medieval outfit will be dancing on it soon. He swallows thick.

His friends are all sat around him, laughing and joking as if they’re perfectly comfortable. Or otherwise impervious to the terror nibbling at Arthur's edges.

"Having fun yet?” Percy halfway shouts at him to be heard.

Arthur is about to snap something childish back at him, but jumps when the lights flicker once, twice, until dying with the music. The circle of a spotlight snaps on, focal-pointing the man on the main stage.

“Greetings, honored guests,” his voice booms, mightily posh. “We have quite the show for you tonight.”

God, his getup is worse than the knight’s. The gaudy, bejeweled crown slanting over his bald head matches the scepter in his hand. A heavy fur robe drapes over his shoulders, parted in the front to reveal the clothes he isn't wearing underneath. He must be the _King_.

The King wishes for them to enjoy themselves, recites the club’s rules such as the obvious “no touching” rule, then retreats behind the curtain followed by a flurry of applause to let the show begin.

Arthur isn't sure what to expect as both the music and lights flare up again and the first dancers make their way out onto the stages-- but he gets the gist of it as they strut down the catwalks and hook themselves around the poles.

Arthur crams himself as far back in his plush chair as he can, training his eyes on the feet of the ginger stripper right in front of him as he teases the crowd, taking his time peeling off his peasant costume. He shoots what he hopes is a fierce glare at his laughing friends.

As the night progresses, the show begins to come to life. There are a few choreographed performances, playing out a sexualized rendition of the Arthurian legends. As creatively lewd as it was, he actually enjoyed the retelling of “The Sword in the Stone” (the sword being just what you'd think it was). Purely for the plot, of course. A smoldering stripper by the stage name Sir Lancelot had a powerful routine dubbed “The Holy Grail”, where he did things with a mere cup that made the crowd erupt with aroused shrieks.

The show is nearing its end and Arthur is kind of having fun. He even awkwardly slipped a note (provided by Gwaine) into Sir Lancelot’s G-string, his face burning up when his friends cheered for him. He’s listening to Leon and Elyan's conversation about the sheer amount of waxing that must go into these productions when the the music grows faint.

“It would seem everyone is having a grand time,” the King addresses the crowd again, to introduce another upcoming performance. Two previous dancers, whom Arthur recognizes as Dragonlord and Nightshade, stroll down the main stage with baskets on their arms. Out of the baskets, they sprinkle fistfuls of shimmering confetti along the walk before retreating behind the curtain. Arthur points a look at Leon, who offers a curious frown.

The King continues his spiel: “This next act has been hailed by many as a mystical miracle, an otherworldly journey, a dance of transcendental seduction! Please try and keep your hands to yourself and welcome the mysterious, the celestial-- Black Magic.”

The room applauds and the lights above the main stage flicker before settling on blue strobes, illuminating the glitter in a dizzying way. The music swells again, quelling the club's clamor and a hooded figure slips onto the stage.

Arthur squints, trying to get a look at the face hidden under the royal blue hood making for the middle of the catwalk. Little embroidered gold stars and crescent moons line the hems of his cloak. Once in the middle, the stranger tilts his head back to let the hood fall, revealing his long white neck. Arthur's eyes widen.

Mysterious was the right adjective.

The area around the dancer's eyes is painted with silver and gold tribal marks, a mosaic masquerade mask. His shock of inky hair, sideburns curving over his high fashion cheekbones, is at total odds with his alabaster skin dusted with more of that ridiculous fairy dust. He can't be older than Arthur, but it's hard to say in this light.

Black Magic slinks down the catwalk to Arthur's pole, letting the cloak ripple down and off the perfect incline of his shoulders to reveal more shimmery skin and tiny (very tiny) gold shorts. He definitely isn't like the other dancers, the cookie cut-out chiseled bodies clipped straight from a Sports Illustrated magazine. He's slight and almost fragile looking.

Arthur watches him more intently than he watched the others so skittishly before, a small smile playing on his mouth. Can he even get up the pole?

That's when their eyes meet, briefly, a first time glance that makes them both look away in the same second. Was there a smile there? Or just the ghost of one in his eyes?

And then (as if to make Arthur eat his unspoken words) with his hands on the pole and one fell swoop-- Black Magic swings in wide curves around the pole, his legs open in a wide V.

Arthur feels his mouth pop open. Someone utters "god damn," before the crowd erupts again.

The applause seems to work for the dancer, taking him higher, twisting him around his anchor weightlessly like a leaf in the breeze. He dances with a certain weightless grace that brings to mind that of a contemporary dancer.

Arthur may have been halfway embarrassed before, but he's positively captured by this boy now. As he weaves his sexy spell through a series of bends, drops and other quite possibly _illegal_ acts. At one point, Black Magic hugs the pole with his long legs for his upper half to curl back, like a blooming flower.

Their eyes meet again like that, flipped, and this time Arthur is sure it’s a deliberate play. Regardless, it makes makes him flush and stir the embers under his heart. But he doesn't break off his stare before the flower closes up again.

Never in his 22 years of life would he be fully prepared for act two.

The dancer's feet leave the glittery stage, placing him right in front of Arthur. And he _is_ smirking this time as he circles Arthur's seat, sizing him up like a dessert he’s about to eat. Arthur feels the terror from earlier eating up the meager confidence he'd grown. His fingers instinctively dig into the upholstery of his chair, his feet stuck in cement. One of his friends hoots for him but it’s lost in the roar of his ears.

Yeah, he’s definitely not ready for this.

Black Magic touches him for the first time with a clammy, feather-light hand and it may as well be an open circuit for how Arthur flinches. The trail of the stranger's hand continues with his stalk around Arthur; up his rigid arm, across his exposed neck and down his other arm. Arthur stares straight ahead, not sure if he's trying to disappear or keep from spontaneously combusting.

It doesn't matter now because without any other warning grace, Black Magic sits on Arthur’s lap, resting his back on Arthur’s chest. His body is warm and solid against him but not heavy, as if he’s using his strength to ghost himself over Arthur. Black Magic breaks Arthur’s rusted hands off the arm rests and guides them down his thighs, making Arthur feel the tight skin there. His hips roll in circles, kneading his ass into Arthur’s lap.

Arthur can't stop his stomach from bottoming out and draining into his pants, but it's on the back burner right now, along with the cheers of the club and blinding lights flickering overhead.

Black Magic slips off his improvised seat and skulks around him once more, tauntingly sliding one of those hands up Arthur’s thigh and disappearing before the hem of his shirt. Thinking it's over, Arthur lets his breath go, unaware he'd been keeping it.

But he's back soon enough, fluidly straddling Arthur with knees dug outside Arthur's thighs. Arthur can't ignore this stranger anymore, not when his eyes, just like crystals surrounded by the slightly smudged metallic paint, cut into him. Arthur's hands are manipulated by the stranger's again, getting pressed into his narrow chest. Their hands slide up and Black Magic's mouth parts with a quick inhale that doesn't feel recited. He tilts his dark head back to bear his lovely throat once more and Arthur about leans into it, before it's gone.

The sudden absence of weight seems to open up Arthur's ears again to a landslide of noise, like surfacing from a pool. The song is over, the lights are back to their sensual normal. Gwaine reaches out to cram a large wad of notes into Black Magic's golden shorts before he returns to his stage, swiping up the other bills tossed by patrons. He bows once, retrieves his cloak and disappears behind the curtain without a glance back. 

“Birthday boy’s havin’ a good time now, right?” Percy booms and someone claps his shoulder rough enough to break him out of his daze.

“Uh, yeah.” Arthur clears his throat, realizing he’s at half-mast and flushed within an inch of his life. “Yeah.”

Later, when the show is over and they’re gathering themselves up from their seats, probably to start bar hopping, Leon asks him if he had a good time.

“Apart from being the single most lewd and downright awful experience I've had in my life so far,” he drawls, and Leon rolls his eyes. “Yes. Yes I had… A decent time. Thank you.”

“Which was your favorite?” Elyan asks, popping up behind him and bumping their shoulders together. “Though I’m almost sure I don’t even have to ask.”

“Then you don’t need the answer,” Arthur quips, bumping him back.

In all honesty he can’t remember a thing after Black Magic’s performance. He dazed out during the last few acts, stuck in a cinematic loop of glowing skin and esoteric eyes attached to the phantom weight on his lap. He’s tempted to stick around, wait for another glimpse of the boy. Or even sit through another showing if it wouldn't rile his mates up, joshing him for having a thing for the stripper who gave him a lap dance. It was just for the money anyway, he reminds himself.

Reluctant to get to the exit, Arthur is plodding behind the group when there’s a tap on his shoulder. He turns around to see Sir Lancelot, his erotic glow toned down by a pair of black jeans.

“The birthday boy, right?” The handsome man asks.

Arthur tries to decipher the slight tease in his brown eyes, wary. “Don’t call me that. What is it?”

Lancelot holds his hands up peaceably. “My apologies. I’m not allowed to do this sort of thing while on the job, but--”

Lancelot hands him the torn corner of a piece of paper, a phone number scrawled on it in blue ink.

Arthur stares at it for a second. “Oh. I’m. Well I am awfully flattered, but I don’t think--”

Lancelot laughs, showcasing two rows of perfect teeth. “It’s Black Magic’s number. He said to give him a call anytime. Anytime he’s not working, of course.”

“Oh,” Arthur says again, feeling like a prat. A giddy prat. He takes the scrap and eats it up with his eyes. “What’s his name?” he asks, feeling like it’d be a useful thing to know.

“Merlin. Do you mind if I give him your name?”

 _Merlin_? Arthur almost scoffs. How fitting.

“Arthur,” he says. The look on the knight's face lets him know he's thinking the same thing.

“Okay well, you didn't hear any of this from me, right?” He winks, before turning back.

Shaking his head, Arthur returns to his squad who have already made it outside.

“There you are!” Gwaine grins, relieved. “We were thinkin’ we’d head over to Clancy’s for chips, what d’you say?”

Arthur rubs the little piece of paper between his finger in his linty pants pocket, the number already in his head. He smiles.

“That sounds good to me. Just, no vinegar.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on tumblr](http://calamity-annie.tumblr.com/) to stay tuned.


End file.
